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Something to Hide
“Hurry up, Brindlefrost!” Ashenfire hissed through closed teeth, his eyes focused ahead. Brindlefrost, still bleary upon just waking up, stumbled quickly after her brother. She was fumbling, her paws heavy. It was also dark out, clouds covering the moon. The tabby was surprised at how fast Ashenfire could move in the black of night. “I’m hurrying!” Brindlefrost retorted. A few moments later, the two burst into camp. Despite the fact that it was moonhigh, the camp was awake, and distressed. Swirledlight’s eyes flooded with relief as his head whipped around from his post at the entrance to camp. “Oh, thank StarClan!” the tabby sighed. He stood up quickly and flicked his tail to lead the two to the medicine cat den. “Thank StarClan,” Swirledlight repeated, “that Ashenfire is fast on his feet. Fawnstar has a bad fever, stomachache, and she’s been vomiting,” he explained as Brindlefrost barged through the cats crowding the den. Anxious murmurs raged through the crowd. Squirrelkit, eyes wide with fear, looked up and Brindlefrost. “U-um, Brindlefrost?” For the first time in her life, the eccentric she-kit stuttered. “I-I gave Fawnst-star some borage... I-I heard y-you say it was g-good for sickness...” She looked down at her paws guiltily. The grey tabby sighed. “It was naughty of you to feed herbs to Fawnstar, you could’ve made her very sick.” Squirrelkit’s bottom lip trembled. “But- you are right. Borage brings down fever, so thank you.” The ginger kit’s head whipped up, eyes shining. Brindlefrost smiled before dawning a serious expression and pushing into her den. There lied Fawnstar in the middle, curled tightly up in a ball. She was convulsing rapidly, both Sycamorebranch and Brownfire by her side. “Oh StarClan,” Brindlefrost breathed. Fawnstar’s thick pelt was slicked down with sweat and water, which she assumed was brought by Sycamorebranch. Despite her coat, thin shedded furs were around her nest. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly, her tongue out and panting heavily. Brownfire looked up, his face expressionless. “Her fever has gone down quite a bit since Squirrelkit fed her the borage. Sycamorebranch brought her water, but...” his voice seemed to fade as Fawnstar started to dry-heave. “Alright,” Brindlefrost meowed. Swiftly, she grabbed some borage leaves that were scattered on the ground and started chewing them up for a poultice. As she went to search for chervil root, she turned to Sycamorebranch. “Can you see if she can keep water down? Or at least get her mouth and throat moistened. She needs it so she can swallow the poultice.” The white and brown tom dipped his head, and headed to the moss storage. “What can I do?” Brownfire asked, his amber eyes burning. With the chervil root in her mouth now as well, it was hard for Brindlefrost to speak. “Keep her mouth open for Sycamorebranch and I,” she meowed. She didn’t want to smash the herbs completely, but she wanted to grind them up enough so they would easily go down Fawnstar’s throat. Brownfire nodded as the tabby added some feverfew into the mixture. Sycamorebranch had returned with a dripping wet wad of moss. Carefully, he squeezed some water into Fawnstar’s forced open jaws. She gulped, and shuddered violently thereafter. Wincing, Brindlefrost spat the poultice out and into the leader’s mouth. She gagged as the tabby massaged her throat. Fawnstar’s breathing had started to slow shortly after. Not back to normal speed, but she wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. After she had calmed down a bit and wasn’t spasming as much, Brindlefrost gave her a small dose of coltsfoot, because she could hear the irregularity in her breathing. “Brownfire,” the tabby asked quietly. “Could you tell the waiting cats that they can go back to sleep, and Fawnstar is doing better?” The leader hadn’t thrown up since she was treated, which was much better, according to Sycamorebranch. Brownfire got up, shaking out his pelt, and headed towards the entrance. After the camp had cleared out and the cats had gone back to their dens, Brindlefrost took Fawnstar’s temperature. She held her breath as she pressed a paw lightly to her forehead. Mildly warm to the touch. Brindlefrost exhaled deeply. “What is it?” Sycamorebranch asked anxiously. “She’s back to normal now.” All three shared a collective sigh of relief. “But then there’s the question,” Brownfire meowed. “What do we do now?” “All we can do is wait,” Brindlefrost responded. And so the night went. Brindlefrost and Brownfire spent it lying in a nest together. Brownfire was trying to cheer her up, but there was the underlying worried tone. The grey tabby’s gaze was focused on Fawnstar the whole night, who Sycamorebranch was pressed against. Cautiously, she leaned into Brownfire’s chest. “This job is so stressful sometimes. If someone dies, it’s all my fault. I couldn’t save them. What’s the point of having a medicine cat that can’t stop someone from dying?” she asked. “Don’t put all that pressure and guilt on yourself. It does no good.” Brindlefrost winced. She could feel the vibrations of Brownfire speaking. “Oh yeah, says Mr. Imma Stop Being Your Friend Because You Want To Help The Clan,” the tabby retorted. “Pshh, can you stop bringing that up?” Brownfire’s voice was twinged with annoyance. He rolled a pebble between his paws. “Here’s a rock.” He guided Brindlefrost’s paw to it, lifting it in the air. “Now get over it.” “Sorry for telling you about the things that really hurt me.” There was a silence between the two. “Whatevs, darling. But, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted; some cats are already goners. You can try to help them, but they’re already dead. On the inside, I mean.” Brownfire mewed. “Wow, you’re so optimistic!” Brindlefrost exclaimed. “You’re not the biggest ball of sunshine, either.” “Pfft.” The grey tabby playfully jabbed him in the shoulder, and Brownfire threw her a look of mock pain. Soon the Sun came up over the horizon, after what seemed to be tireless hours. The dark sky turned purple, and before the cats knew it, pink and orange streams of light were dancing among the indigo clouds. Sunlight filtered in through the cracks in the top of the den. Brindlefrost, stiff from being in the same position all night, stood up and stretched, her tail up and claws outstretched, sinking into the ground. Sycamorebranch had gotten up as well, his eyes reddened and tired. The medicine cat was surprised- she thought he had slept. “I’ll get the water if you want to make another poultice.” Brindlefrost dipped her head. But just as they were about to head and get their supplies, shifting was heard from Fawnstar’s den. The leader half-opened her dark eyes. They were crusted with sleep dust. In disgust, Fawnstar looked down at herself. “I’m sorry,” Fawnstar mewed. Her voice was hoarse and weak. “That this is how you have to see me before I pass on to another life.” She was staring at her matted chest hair that had dry vomit on it. The rest of her brown pelt was knotted and unkempt. “Oh, Fawnstar!” Brindlefrost was so surprised that the she-cat was alive- and awake! And she was speaking! “Thank StarClan you’re alive!” Sycamorebranch added. “Not for long, I admit.” Fawnstar flopped onto her side, eyes glazed as she rubbed the dust out of them. Her teeth were clicking as she spoke, and her voice was dry. “I’ll get you some water,” Brownfire meowed. The leader barley turned her head to acknowledge the tom. “That’s not needed.” “Please,” Brindlefrost begged. “Hope for the best!” “Brindlefrost.” Fawnstar’s voice was still regal and powerful, despite her condition. “I’m your leader. I’ve lived many lives. I’ve seen cats be born. I’ve seen them die. I’ve witnessed the cycle of life. And I’m afraid mine has come to an end.” Sycamorebranch was trembling. “Fawnstar...” “You will make an excellent leader, Sycamorebranch.” Dreamily, Fawnstar looked around at the three cats who were towering over her. “Thank you. And goodbye.” Chapter Fourteen-Death Can WaitEdit “Please!” Sycamorebranch’s voice was choked by tears. “I can’t lose two of my closest friends in the span of one day!” “I won’t let her die!” Brindlefrost hissed. Mistyrain had suddenly come down with the same sickness Fawnstar had gotten- her symptoms were a little less severe, but nonetheless, she was suffering. They were trying to keep her kits in the dark about the whole situation- she would try her hardest to keep their mother alive. She would keep their mother alive. The day had dwindled down into the evening when the queen had stumbled into the den, complaining of a headache and stomach pains. The rest of the Clan was mourning Fawnstar, exchanging final goodbyes and words. Brindlefrost bit her tongue. “A real medicine cat wouldn’t have let their leader die,” is what Ashenfire had told her when the news was spread. She shook her head. Why was he acting so nasty? He had a major attitude shift when he was an apprentice. Leafshine, as well, shared some rude words. Sycamorebranch had already tried giving Mistyrain water and dampened her head. The she-cat wasn’t vomiting yet. Brindlefrost grinded her teeth back and forth- she found that a pulp did work quite well for feeding medicine. She pawed out the poultice and let it fall into Mistyrain’s mouth. Carefully, she took the jaws of the cat and worked them back and forth so the medicine could get down. The dark grey she-cat gagged and a huge shiver went through her body. Mistyrain’s eyes were glazed, and she was still awake. “How do you feel?” Brindlefrost asked slowly and quietly. Sycamorebranch drew in his breath anxiously. For that moment in time, the den was so quiet and the tension was so thick it could’ve been sliced with a claw. “Like I’m... on fire.” Mistyrain’s voice was strained, and Brindlefrost could see that her eyes were steaming. “But... it’s starting... to fade.” With a swab of wet moss, Brindlefrost drew her paw over the patient’s forehead. She was so scared, so anxious that she would lose another clan member on her paws. Her sister, her leader, and now her mentor? She couldn’t let this happen. “I’m just... tired, now.” Mistyrain’s head lulled to the side. Brindlefrost swallowed. “Well, I’ll let you nap, but before that, what pain is most extreme? The headache, the stomach pains, or the fever?” “The headache is... still there, but... not as bad... the pains, they’re dull... I’m... really warm, though,” she mewed. “Okay. So, um, before you go to sleep, can you swallow this?” Brindlefrost had a feverfew leaf hooked on her outstretched claw, and she held it out to Mistyrain, flicking it onto her tongue. She slowly closed her mouth and chewed. “Thank you,” Mistyrain mewed. Brindlefrost flinched. Those were some of the last words that Fawnstar had said. Her eyes began to close as she drifted off, her snoring uneven. Sycamorebranch and Brindlefrost exchanged a glance. “Could you sit with her? I’m going to go wash my paws in the river- I don’t want to contaminate the water here,” the tabby asked. Sycamorebranch dipped his head slightly. “If she wakes up complaining of a fever, give her some of this.” Brindlefrost patted the ground beside a clump of feverfew. “If she says she has stomach pains, give this to her, and this if she has a headache.” She pointed out chervil root and lavender, respectively. “What if she has breathing problems?” Sycamorebranch asked worriedly. “You can give her coltsfoot or juniper berries, both of which are over there.” A small nook in the wall contained the flowering plant and small, purple berries. Drawing in a breath, the deputy-no, wait, technically leader-nodded once again. He smiled, but his eyes betrayed his expression. Brindlefrost smiled wanly and quickly padded out of her den, her tail waving in the air in irritation. She felt stressed out. Her Clan was without a leader, and the to-be one was too enveloped in the life of his mate. Not that that was a bad thing- it was quite understandable. But he would have to select a new deputy before Moonhigh, and the thought that he might forget worried Brindlefrost. Sighing, she walked out of camp. Uninterrupted, she padded on the winding path to the river, her pawsteps slow. She needed time to herself, and despite all the sickness Greenleaf brought, it was indeed beautiful. Small butterflies fluttered back and forth, and flowers edged the path. Bright orange, red, and pink. Brindlefrost pricked her ears, hearing the sound of rustling leaves. “Hey.” It was Brownfire. The tom smiled warmly. “Crazy day, huh?” “If that’s how you want to phrase it,” Brindlefrost mewed, glancing towards him. “Walk with me? I’m just heading to the river,” she added. Brownfire dipped his head, and fell into step beside her. “I didn’t know,” she breathed, “that my job would be this hard. I hope one of the kits, or my soon-to-be younger siblings show an interest in herbs.” “Mistyrain is going to live,” Brownfire assured her. “You’re a good medicine cat.” “I hope. I don’t think Sycamorebranch would forgive me if I let her die.” “Don’t beat yourself up.” Silence followed. Brindlefrost twitched her nose, spotting the river up ahead. It was gurgling gently, water rushing through the small, smooth stones. “Who do you think will be the new deputy?” Brownfire wondered aloud. “I think that Rowanscar would be a good option.” “Maybe Mistyrain?” Brindlefrost pondered. “Sometimes leaders choose family for deputies, and she’s a good warrior, granted she lives.” The tabby shuddered. “Which she will,” Brownfire responded, lightly bumping Brindlefrost with his shoulder. “Come on, Brindle. Have a little more faith in yourself.” Brindlefrost exhaled deeply. “I miss when we were kits. We could frolic and play and had no idea of what lied ahead. Now, it seems like the weight of the world is on our shoulders.” Her smile weakened. “When did everyone decide to grow up?” They had reached the river. The tabby draped her paws into it, rushing water dragging them slowly. She wished it was powerful enough to wash away all her troubles, but unluckily for her, water wasn’t a cure-all. The liquid felt good on her fur, so natural. “Thanks for coming,” she meowed. Brownfire tipped his head to the side and grinned. “No problem, Brindle.” Chapter Fifteen-FriendsEdit “I bet I can catch this one,” Brownfire insisted. His eyes darting back and forth, he leaped at a small leaf that was drifting down, swirling in the wind. Brindlefrost stifled a chuckle. It was Leaf-fall now. Greenleaf had dwindled down into chilly weather, and the plants were starting to die and the leaves turned brown. Petals on the flowers were wilting, the tips darkening. Brownfire’s claws punctured the leaf he chased, bringing it down to the ground. “Do you think I should bring this back to camp? I think it’d be a very filling meal for Ivyclaw,” the tom said. “Her kits will be due soon, won’t they?” “Yeah. In about a quarter moon or two, I’d assume. Mistyrain’s kits will be apprentices soon, which is good, because that den has been empty since Stormbringer and Vixenwind became warriors,” Brindlefrost confirmed. She swatted at another leaf in the air. “Has Leafshine told you that she’s pregnant?” Brownfire asked. Brindlefrost’s brow wrinkled. “What? She’s having kits?” Brownfire nodded. “She’s not really the motherly type. Where’d you hear that?” “Hawkswoop. Whitepelt. Specklefur. According to them, she refuses to say who the father is,” Brownfire meowed, flopping down on the ground. “She hasn’t come to see you?” “She hates me,” Brindlefrost meowed, lying down beside him. “Hey! Maybe Ashenfire is the father! They both have some sort of aversion towards me.” She shook her head. With her sister dead and distant brother, the tabby hoped that her younger siblings brought the family back together. “Ashenfire doesn’t have an aversion towards you,” Brownfire mewed, facing her. “He just... isn’t a fan of medicine cats, I don’t think.” His gaze softened as cold air breezed past them, pulling his friend close to him. “Brownfire,” Brindlefrost meowed in a cautious tone. “Medicine cat.” “Friends snuggle,” Brownfire insisted. “Especially when it’s cold,” he tacked on. He turned his head up to the sky, watching the pale clouds drift across the sky, the leaves swirling down. Brindlefrost sighed, pressing her face into his fluffy, white chest fur. She enjoyed the comfort of her friend. Friend, the word echoed over and over again in her head. Friends and nothing more. “Friends,” she meowed. Brownfire shifted his gaze. “Friends.” =..-^*^-..= “They’re beautiful, mom,” Brindlefrost whispered. Tears slipped from my eyes, and she wiped them gently with her paws. Ivyclaw was grinning uncontrollably, crying. She was looking down at the small, fluffy bundles suckling at her stomach. Strikestripe licked her cheek. Ashenfire was leaning against the wall. His eyes showed no emotion, but he was smiling lightly. “Two more daughters,” Ivyclaw mewed. “Two perfect daughters,” Strikestripe nodded his head slightly. Ivyclaw glanced up at Brindlefrost. “I hope that they grow up like you.” She looked at Ashenfire as well. “Do you want to name them?” Strikestripe asked. Ivyclaw nodded. “We could each name one,” he meowed. “How about Twilightkit for this one?” Ivyclaw pointed to a grey kit with dark splotches and a stripe running down her back, and a pale belly. “She looks like you.” Strikestripe smiled. “This one has my mother’s colours.” He indicated the other she-kit, a small ginger kitten with tabby patches. “Cherrykit for her?” “Cherrykit is a beautiful name,” Ivyclaw meowed. She and Strikestripe touched their foreheads together. Brindlefrost felt a stab in her heart. Her parents really loved each other. She would never be that close to another cat, feel their warm embrace, or feel the joy of watching her kits grow. Unless... Brindlefrost bit down on her tongue, hard. No! You cannot have those thoughts. “Twilightkit and Cherrykit are wonderful names,” Brindlefrost spoke warmly. “I’ll bring in some borage to help your milk come. Would you like some thyme? It’s for frayed nerves,” she told her mother. Ivyclaw shook her head lightly. “I don’t need it, I’ve given birth before,” she chuckled. “Okay. I’ll bring some, just in case.” Brindlefrost wanted to bring the thyme for Leafshine as well- she’d gotten the stubborn she-cat to move into the nursery, with some trouble. She was scowling in the corner currently, glaring at the medicine cat. “Squirrelkit,” Brindlefrost asked. The young kit poked her white and ginger poked her head out from behind Mistyrain’s back. “Would you like to help me get herbs?” She sprang out, tail fluffed out. “Yeah!” she meowed excitedly, hurrying to Brindlefrost’s side. Her mother raised her head slightly. “Thanks for keeping her busy,” Mistyrain dipped her head. Brindlefrost smiled. She cherished every moment with Mistyrain since her brush with death. “No problem,” she mewed. Glancing down at Squirrelkit, she opened her mouth to speak as she led the kitten out of the den. “So, do you know what borage looks like, Squirrelkit?” “Oo!” The kit chided. “Is it the... the one with the blue flowers?” “Very good!” Brindlefrost purred, flicking her tail. Squirrelkit beamed happily. “Here,” the tabby meowed as she pushed into the entrance of her den. “Can you fetch me some? It’s in the back of the den, right there...” she indicated a crevice that had blue flowers peeking out. Squirrelkit nodded and scuttled towards them, tail raised high in pride. Brindlefrost grinned and headed towards her thyme supply, grasping some of the rough leaves between her sharp teeth, trying to not puncture them. Squirrelkit rushed back to her, borage leaves clamped in her jaws and drifting down. The tabby chuckled. A determined look on her face, the mottled kit charged out of the den, leaving a trail of herbs in her wake. Brindlefrost shook her head slightly and followed her back to the nursery, twitching her whiskers in amusement. The dim light of the nursery fell back over her as she headed to the corner of the den, where Leafshine had built her nest. She pricked her ears, hearing an overzealous Squirrelkit feeding Ivyclaw the borage. Leafshine’s gaze darkened as Brindlefrost approached. “What?” she demanded. Brindlefrost dropped the herbs at her paws. “It’s thyme,” she meowed, spitting out some loose bits of leaves. “I want you to eat it.” Leafshine eyed her suspiciously. “What does it do?” Brindlefrost sighed. “It’s for anxieties, okay?” The tortoiseshell wrinkled her nose and held her gaze for a bit longer, before leaning down and lapping them up. Her face scrunched up. “Ew,” she muttered. The tabby turned her head to leave when she heard Leafshine’s voice. “Brindlefrost, wait.” “Yes?” She angled her bright blue gaze towards the queen. “Do you know how many kits I’m having?” she asked anxiously. Brindlefrost was surprised. “It’s a little early on in pregnancy to tell, but from the looks and feels of it, it’s more than two.” She quickly groomed her muzzle. Leafshine blinked and nodded her head. “Okay. Thanks... I guess.” “No problem. It’s my job,” Brindlefrost meowed as she left, her pawsteps soft.